


Judas

by LadyArtemis



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:17:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyArtemis/pseuds/LadyArtemis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To protect those he loves, Keeler must cooperate with the Colterons, but what happens when love gets in the way?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

“Navigator.”

The room was too warm, ribs aching and certainly broken somewhere, not sure how much inside was broken, and not just the physical. Didn't know anything anymore, too hard to concentrate with the stench in the air.

“Navigator, what is your answer?”

They're asking him something, something important, he's supposed to have an answer. What was the question again?

“ _Keeler._ ”

Raises hollow eyes to the Colteron standing in front of him, hands chained to the chair behind him, just so fucking tired of it all. Lost track of time since _the battle_ , since he got his ship stuck in the Colteron's gravity ray, got himself fucking captured. Fighter is dead, killed him nice and slow, right in front of him. It must have been weeks, since he was back on the ship, curled up with him on the mattresses. Certainly been weeks since he heard his task name, and that's why it gets his attention.

Glares behind a tangle of blonde hair, so fucking done with it all. Done with the pain, with lying in his own shit and urine, done with the neverending _questions._ This question is different though, he has a choice to make, just hard to remember what that choice is under the harsh glare of the lights above him.

“This is an opportunity, Keeler. You don't have to die here." 

He suddenly remembers the question, panic crossing his face, blinking as his thoughts race. “What about-” Coughing, blood bubbling up at the corners of his mouth, fuck, maybe he's punctured a lung. Gets control of himself, closes his eyes and swallows, voice shaking. “What about my family?”

“Yes, your family will be safe as well. You will be a hero, anywhere you want to live on Earth, its yours. Anything you want, all you have to do is ask. You will live like a king, Keeler. Like you deserve.”

Keeler screws his eyes shut, unable to believe he's actually _considering_ this. The Colterons made a convincing point, though, he knew humanity was losing this war; fuck, they all knew it. Only kept fighting because there was no alternative, but here was a way out. It would be stupid not to take it, really. “What do I have to do?” he says dully.

“When we send you back to the Station, you will continue to climb the ranks until you have the highest security clearance. It shouldn't be hard for you, your navigational skills are bordering prodigious. You will provide us with inside information, and, when we call on you to, you will use your clearance to wipe out the entirety of Command on the Station.”

Keeler's breath hitches, opening his eyes and staring at a spot on the table in front of him. Information, that was easy enough, but murder on a mass scale?

“I- I can't-” he chokes.

“Kyla,” the Colteron says, and Keeler meets its eyes in shock. “Your niece- she's 4 today, isn't she? Such a vibrant little thing. She'll make an excellent toy for the Colterons, don't you think? Wonder what she can do with such a pretty little mouth-”

“Stttnn.” Such a strangled noise that comes through Keeler's gritted teeth, eyes big with horror. He shudders, looks down, trying to fight the panic. “I'll do it,” he whispers, trembling.

“What was that, Navigator? I didn't hear you.”

Keeler raises his eyes, full of hatred and venom but so thoroughly broken. “I said _yes_ ,” he spat. “Whatever you want, just stay away from her. Stay away from them all. Please.”

The Colteron looks smug, eyes appraising Keeler and roaming slowly over his broken form. “A wise choice, Navigator.” It steps behind him, and he hears a _click_ before the shackles fall from his wrists, freeing him.

It leans its face in close, hot vile breath washing over Keeler's neck. He tries not to shudder. “ _You would make an excellent Colteron_.” 


	2. Chapter 2

 I don't know how they could have planned it, but a rescue effort comes for me and my dead fighter the exact next day, somehow managing to board the ship in what they thought was secrecy, find me, get me the fuck out of there.

The Colterons never even noticed, or as I suspect, just didn't react.

It was a weird feeling being back on the Station, back in a claustrophobic room and an actual bed and having actual food. They give me a week to recover before I'm put back on active duty, everyone congratulating me on my bravery, why I don't know. Some of them try to talk to me about it, but I make it clear soon enough that they're not going to get an answer. It confuses them, I can tell, because I used to be so open about everything, always smiling, friends with everyone, but now I just lock myself in my room whenever I get the chance, the freed bird locking itself back in a cage because it doesn't know what else to do.

A couple of months pass like this, I avoid everyone, have barely used my voice. It's then that I get my first contact from the Colterons, nearly driving me to jump out of my skin when the message appears on my tablet.

_Get yourself together. You are one of our soldiers now, do not dare forget that._

Attached was a picture of my sister and her daughter, Kyla, playing in some park. I don't know how they got that picture, it unnerves me to no end, drives me a little crazy thinking about Colteron spies following my family around.

It's enough to pull me out of my slump, try to find the drive that I had before I was captured. Over the next 6 months I push everything I have at the task of being a navigator. I constantly run on little to no sleep, taking stims to keep focused as I pore over calibrations and strategies and spend endless hours in the simulator. I steadily climb my way through the rankings, scrabbling to the top of the talented fleet, until finally I hit the ceiling and realize there's nothing more that I can do to climb the rankings.

Because I'm ranked second out of all the navigators, but I'm not Lead Navigator. And that position is already filled.

His task name is Pan, a tall and and beautiful navigator with flight skills that always leave me starry-eyed when I fly with him. I've admired him for years, he's kind and gentle but tough as nails when it comes down to it, everything I could ever hope for in a leader.

And now I have to get him out of the way.

I know that, know it logically, looking up at the ceiling with a horrified stare as I lay on my bed at night. The Colterons made it clear I needed officer clearance, and I would never be an officer while Pan stood in my way. I lay there, scheming in my head, figure out a pretty good plan to set him up for a demotion, maybe even deportation from the service. It's unfortunate, but that's the way it has to be.

Why couldn't it happen like that, Pan? Why did you have to be so nosy?

The very next day, as I'm plotting to put my plan into action, I get called into his office. I'm surprised by it, a little curious, a lot nervous as I walk inside and close the door like he gestures for me to do. He gets up and walks around his desk, half sits on it so it's not inbetween us, takes off his glasses and gives me a long look.

My heart beats faster in my chest, forcing my expression to remain blank. “You wanted to see me, Sir?” 

“Keeler, is there something you want to tell me?”

My mouth twitches, fear creeping into my extreminites like I'm some little kid caught sneaking cookies out of the cupboard. “No, sir,” I say, voice surprisingly smooth. 

Pan catches my eyes, holds them for a few long moments, I somehow manage to not give away my anxiety. Finally, he reaches for his tablet, flicking through a few screens. “I happened to be looking at the datanet last night, and noticed an encrypted message being sent to your tablet. Something asking about ship coordinates. Do you know anything about that, Keeler?” 

I force myself to stay calm. Deep breaths, in, out. Eyes widen in confusion or shock. “Sir?” I say in disbelief. “I have no idea what that could be. What exactly are you implying, sir?” 

He narrows his eyes at me, places the tablet back on the desk and retrieves his glasses. “If you don't know anything, I suppose there will have to be an investigation. In the meantime, we have a training run scheduled for tonight, so I suppose it will have to wait until tomorrow. Dismissed.” 

As soon as I'm in the hall, door closed safely behind me, I collapse into the wall, shaking hard. I don't know how I had managed to keep calm for so long. My breath hitches and I bite my knuckle to stop myself from panicking completely. I close my eyes, count to ten, count to thirty. Focus on my breathing, on the way my body feels, focus on that instead of the thoughts racing through my head. I realize I'm a little dizzy, feel a little weightless. Remember it's been at least a day since I’ve eaten, skipping dinner last night and lunch today to work on calculations. When did I get so thin? 

I ease myself off the wall, smooth my hair, pull myself back together. My thoughts return to my mission, deadening my nerves with the logic of the situation. Pan knows, or at least is about to know, and I can't let that happen. Not if I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a military cell, until the Colterons take over, until they rape and murder my family in front of me. I can't let that happen. I'm sorry, Pan, but I have to kill you. 

I know I have to do it soon, before he can raise his concerns to the superior officers. So I stride off to the hangar where our ships wait, a small sea of gleaming metal, such a beautiful little flock of birds. Lunch is still going on for the hangar crew, next shift hasn't started yet, so I'm lucky, have the place to myself. 

I wind through the ships until I find his, the _Augustus_. I take a moment to run my fingers over the sleek line of her nose, ponder what it will be like to fly her. It gives me a little thrill, I can't help it. She's the fastest bird of them all, fitted with a beta of a superior navigational system that allows her to turn nose to tail in .25 seconds. It almost hurts that I have to damage her. 

I cast a glance around, make sure no one's come back from lunch early, before making my way to the engine panel and prying it open. I take a moment to look around, find a discarded screw on the ground, return to the ship and flick my eyes over the parts. I pull out a tube, drop the screw in, put everything back in place. 

I stand there for a moment, staring at the engine panel, surprised by how utterly easy it all was. The screw should jam it, it will build up too much pressure, and explode. On the navigator's side of the ship, so it shouldn't hurt the fighter, not that it really matters anyway. 

I run a hand through my hair, messing it up so I have to take it out of its braid and put it back, before walking away. Keep expecting for it to hit me, the guilt, nausea, something, but it never does. Not when I leave the hangar deck. Not when I'm called back in for the trial run.

Not even when the flock is in space, playing target practice with the meteors, and there is a sudden burst of light to the left of our ship, some piece of debris knocking into the side of us and making everything swerve for a moment. My fighter curses loudly, but I stay silent, eyes sliding to the side of the window and watching the flaming bird in the middle of the darkness of space, like a phoenix out of myth. There's chaos over the comms, screaming from the _Augustus'_ fighter, barked orders from central command. All birds return to hangar deck. I whisper my fingers over the nav orb, not even trembling, bring us back home. 

I'm not stupid, and I'm sure to act scared and confused and concerned over the burning ship that's dragged back in, sprayed over with fire-retardant to beat back the flames. I force myself to watch, morbidly curious, as they hold back Pan's fighter, drag his burned figure out of the wreckage. Then they're shooing us all away, medical taking over, not letting us see anymore.

Later, after forcing myself to eat dinner and going back to my room, I'm confused to see my fighter wide-eyed not with shock, but relief. “Keeler!” he exclaims, laughing a little and running a hand through his hair. “Did ya hear?” 

“Hear what?” I say, removing my jacket, setting it neatly on the back of the chair.

“Lieutenant Pan's alive!”

I falter in shock, knocking into the desk with wide eyes, but thankfully my fighter is too stupid to think it's anything other than crushing relief. “He- How did he survive that?!” I say, turning wide eyes on him. 

He shrugs, smiling so fucking big about it. I would think it was weird, a fighter being so concerned over the Lead Navigator, if Pan wasn't just about everyone's best friend. “Guess they got to him in time. He's still critical, not conscious yet, but they think with a few weeks of rest he'll pull through okay.”

I stare at him- no, stare through him, fingers clenching around my neat unwrinkled jacket, snarling it in my hands. I have to remind myself not to look too upset. Of course throwing a screw in the valves was too fucking easy.

I can't let Pan wake up, because I know what the first thing out of his mouth is going to be. I close my eyes, shudder, try to maintain composure. 

“Keeler?” my fighter says, concerned.

“Fine,” I breathe out, going to the head and shutting the door between us. I turn on the shower, step inside still half-clothed, tilt my face up into the stream of water and let it soak me, let it wash away the fear and anxiety and stress, stand there until the water goes cold, like I can feel my heart slowly becoming, until I'm numb, until I can't feel a thing.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It's just a precaution, really. Probably not even necessary, the Lead Navigator is incapacitated, I am next in line, it probably wouldn't have even been an issue.

“Keel-”

Even so, it was hard to resist such a learning opportunity. I was going to have to eventually wipe out command, and I'd never killed anyone before, not directly, I supposed I should know what it's like. That was how I decided to approach this, after I got over myself in the shower, my fighter pounding on the door asking if I was okay, if I had fucking drowned in there. Such a drama queen sometimes. Of course I'm okay.

“Keeler, please!”

He's grabbed onto my foot now, struggling supine on our dirty room's floor, begging at me, scrabbling for his navigator to save him. I scowl, kick his hand away, glare down at him from where I'm perched on the bed. “Can't you die any faster?” I snap, surprising myself with the harshness of it.

My fighter stares up at me, eyes round and about to pop out of his skull, mouth gaping in horror. I wonder with clinical curiosity what it must feel like, having your organs shut down. He'll probably lose the ability to breathe soon. Is it like being a kid, challenging your friends over who can hold their breath the longest?

Oh, there he goes, he's coughing now, gasping and trying to breathe but, sorry kiddo, your lungs just collapsed. Won't be using them again.

I watch him struggle for a few more minutes, and fuck is this taking a long time. Turn the bottle of pills over in my hands, look at the label of the stims. Says to take no more than one pill in the course of 24 hours, laugh a little to myself wondering if I really needed to cram the whole bottle down his throat.

Its grown quiet, and I slide my eyes over to the dark form of my fighter. Well, not _my_ fighter, not anymore. Not anyone's fighter, judging by how still he is. I slide off the bed, turn his head so I can get two fingers against his neck to feel his pulse. Can't feel anything, guess he's-

_Thu-thump._

Shit, he's still alive. But barely, just barely. Won't be long now.

_Thu.... thump._

I hold my breath, watch his face intently, count the seconds, but there isn't another heartbeat. I slide my fingers from his neck, his head rolling to the side. Stare down at him for a long moment, waiting to feel sick, waiting to feel _something._

The feeling never comes.


End file.
